


You've Got To Be Joking

by SpiffySpifferson



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Blood Kink, Blood and Torture, F/M, Face-Fucking, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Spit Kink, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-03-11 00:56:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13513374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiffySpifferson/pseuds/SpiffySpifferson
Summary: Bound,  disoriented,  and powerless,  you awaken in the Clown Prince's fortress of fun.The fun is all his as Joker makes you his plaything.





	1. Bloody Hell

**Author's Note:**

> ♤♡◇♧  
> … This started as a recounting of a dream I had but by part 3 it became much more. The dream itself was surreal, in the way only dreams can be. The imagery was all tight close ups and dark silhouettes with bright splashes of color. The big picture was left for abstract assembly. I was sometimes the Joker, sometimes the victim, and sometimes spectating.  
> You, dear reader, will be the Victim.
> 
> And  
> here  
> we  
> go...  
> ♤♡◇♧

♤♡◇♧

 

PART I - Bloody Hell

You awaken with a dry mouth and a dull headache.  
As your senses focus, your nose detects saw dust, peanuts, hay, and... gunpowder? Your surroundings are dimly lit. A long but shallow wooden stage stands left of center to you. A few string lights are unceremoniously draped over the ripped and faded red and white bunting that serves as the trim. The ground is thickly littered with straw.

Though the lights are gentle and incandescent, the air feels cold. That's when you notice your limbs are pulled taut and fastened, askew, to a giant bullseye, as though you are the assistant in a magician's knife throwing act. You test the straps and find that you're held firmly not only by your wrists and ankles, but also around your waist. 

You don't remember how you got here or whether or not you were clothed beforehand but now the only barrier between your bare skin and the cold is a pair of... what are these? Leggings? Tights? Jogging pants? Bright and striped, they rest at your hips and cling closely all the way down to your knees. 

You try to shake your limbs for blood flow. The metal fastenings jingle. As you try to take in your surroundings some more, flood lights suddenly ignite above the stage, blinding you. Your eyes burn behind tightly drawn eyelids. You jump with a start as a deep rumbling chuckle breaks through the white noise that's buzzing in your ears. The heat of the lights and the dancing spots in your eyes fade from awareness as the disembodied laugh gains might and mania.

The gruff guffaws continue and, hazarding a peek as your eyes adjust, you see a gramophone roll unassisted onto the stage. You blink. With wheels squeaking, it stops center stage. All at once, the flood lights shut off, the laughing halts, and a spotlight clicks on to illuminate the machine on stage. There is a moment of aching anticipation as you wait for something to happen.  
Nothing. Bravely looking about, up, and down, you can see nothing. Nothing beyond the stage and about ten feet to your left and right. It's all empty threatening pitch which surrounds you and presses in on you. 

With a whine and a screech the gramophone suddenly starts to play a tune. It wavers and warbles, but you recognize the circus music from your youth.  
As the song winds on, your shiver and your breath picks up pace. Why is nothing else happening? Will something else happen? Are you going to die?  
"WHY ISN'T ANYTHING HAPPENING?" You don't realize that you've screamed until the song scratches to a stop.  
Laughter erupts with full force. It is mirthful. Joyous. Maniacal. Sinister. 

You shout at the stage, demanding the creatures in the shadows reveal themselves. On the verge of tears, shouting expletives, you pull at your bonds with all the strength you have. The cackling subsides and you hear footsteps. A figure, difficult to see because of the bright lighting, shuffles on stage and stops next to the cart, leaning on it leisurely. They raise their hand in exasperation and snap their fingers. The spotlight shakes and wanders, struggling to find its mark. Awkwardly the light finally rests upon your captor and your breath catches in your throat.

He is tall. Not lankey, necessarily, but definitely slim. It appears he would look dapper with his coiffed hair, three-piece suit, spats, and shined shoes if it weren't for his gaudy color scheme. Purple, orange, and green assault your already watering eyes.  
But all of these observations are in the peripheral of your mind because all you can focus on is his face which is contorted into a terrible and somehow disapproving smile. His lips are painted bright red to exaggerate his menacing expression. Piercing green eyes appraise you from shadowed sockets. 

His chest heaves as he takes a deep breath.  
"Well, I really had much more planned for you. I thought you'd last longer, you see," His voice rings clear. It's a little gruff with a lilt and rhythm that's almost whimsical.  
He stands upright and gestures to the room in general, "there was going to be confetti and balloons- a whole welcome wagon. I even got a canon! ...Though we may still use that yet." He shrugs as he hops off stage and ambles towards you. He arrives and leans forward on your bullseye, supported by one hand which he places next to your head. The smell of gunpowder is strong on his clothes.

"So, you had a few questions, did you? Hmm? Let's hear them," He calmly coos, raising his eyebrows in expectation.  
You hesitate before asking who the hell he is.  
His free hand grasps his chest and his face falls in mock surprise. “You haven't heard of me?! Haven't seen me in the papers?? HoohoohooHaHaHAHAHAHAhahaha ah aha haha ha! And here I thought my name was infamous. WELL I suppose that means I'll have to try harder for notoriety!”  
With a flair he strikes a pose before you and with a small bow he says, “The name is… Joker.” when he says his name, his voice drops to a low growl and his green eyes, menacingly hooded under his brows, meet yours. You visibly shiver and your blood runs cold.  
Straightening up, he strokes your cheek with his gloved hand and you can smell the rich leather from which they're made. His touch is alarmingly gentle. His fingers wander to your throat and he places his hand around it limply.  
“But you… Heh Heh… You will call me Mister J.”  
You nod and in response he smiles and gives your throat a little squeeze before letting go.  
“Anything else before we get started?”  
Get started? How bad is this going to get? You wonder again if you're going to die.  
Politely, you ask Mister J for something to drink.  
“Oh I think that can be arranged,” he giggles. Then, without warning, Joker grabs your face firmly and when you open your mouth in shock he hocks and spits into it. It hits the back of your throat and you reflexively swallow. You sputter and gag while Joker nearly doubles over with laughter.  
“HEEHEEHEEHEEHOOHOOHHAHAHA YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN YOUR FACE! HOOHOOHOO!” He delights But his face snaps quickly back to a stern scowl and he takes your head in both of his hands and starts to work his mouth to ready more saliva.  
You try to shake loose but he is still a head taller than you. Cold eyes look down into yours and he says firmly, “open your mouth.”  
Defiantly, you bite down on your lips to shut them tighter. Joker chuckles and brings his face close to yours, so close that your noses almost touch.  
“I said,” his voice drops into a deep growl once more as he moves his hands to your throat, “open your mouth.”

With a sudden (and brief) determination you pitch your head forward as hard as you can and manage to land a strong head butt. Joker reels back in surprise and you can see his eyes watering. His maniacal laughter rings out once more as he wipes his eyes with an orange handkerchief.  
HAHAHAHAhahaaaahhahaha  
“I like it when they fight back,” one hand returns to your neck while the other brings two blinding blows to your face, one of which is pointedly aimed dead center. Blood trickles from your nose and over your top lip.  
“Too bad fighting makes no difference.”  
He reaches to the flower in his lapel and squeezes it. A stream of ice cold water shoots you in your stinging face and you gasp from the cold. Joker once again slings his spit into your mouth. You can't help but gag again which spurs his laughter.  
Giggling, his gaze rests on your lips, his eyebrows arch and he gives a nod of expectation. You slowly open your mouth, letting your jaw lax. The supple leather of his gloves caress your skin as he guides your chin upwards. The Joker brings his face over yours and lets a stream of saliva fall from his painted lips. You can feel it sliding down your throat. It's cold, but only half as cold as his expression as he lowers his lips to yours. His lips are firm and uncaring, but his mouth and his breath are warm. You close your eyes in disgust, but your lips involuntarily match his pressure.  
You can barely process what you’ve done before you are hit with another backhand.  
“HAHAHAHA Say, that must have really wet your whistle, eh? Still thirsty?” Joker sneers as you stutter a response.  
“Oh stop, don’t PAIN yourself over it. After all, that’s MY job! HHOOOHHOOOooohahahaHAHAHA!” His shrieking laughter rises and falls as he lands strike after strike across your face. Cheeks reddened, eyes watering, ears ringing, you eek out a plea to Mister J.  
Please stop.  
Please wait.  
Please.  
Mister J.

Joker stops mid-swing and licks his lips. His voice drops into a deep rumble once again, “I quite like the way you say my name, heh heh.” J produces a knife from his jacket, purring as he unfolds the blade and holds it to your lips. “Say it again, sweet stuff,” he growls.  
You flinch as the cold steel grazes your skin and you repeat yourself softly. HEEHEEHAHAHA “Is that the best you’ve got?” He scolds, moving the knife between your lips. Pressing the false edge to the corner of your mouth, pulling it into a crooked smile, he grins contemptuously as a small whine escapes you. He abruptly withdraws his knife. You swallow and repeat his name on shaky breath.  
Joker leans against the bullseye again, this time resting on his elbow. His body is pressed to your side and he hums as he starts to let the blade wander over your bare skin. You turn your face away and brace yourself for whatever he has in store.  
He clears his throat and turns your face to his. His eyes examine every emotion on your face but his grin is all you can see as he lets the point of his knife leave its mark as he drags it over you. The Clown instructs you to say ‘Thank you, Mister J’ at every nick left on your skin, every shallow cut, every biting pinch, every tiny penetration. 

His eyes and his grin get a more wild with each obedient utterance. J’s mouth twists and mocks and sneers at you. He presses his forehead against your temple and gives orders in low lustful tones. J’s painted mouth brushes against your skin, coaxes, and demands, and berates, and demean you. All the while your flesh opens to his blade.  
Thin trails of blood decorate your body like winding crimson rivers. Each gasp and movement feels like you're opening them further. Even though the cuts are superficial, they make your body scream agony. He works his way gradually from your torso to your extremities to the sensitive flesh on your triceps and inner thighs.  
The more you flinch the more he twists the blade. The more he twists the blade the more he laughs.

Slowly his voice seems to be coming from further and further away.  
The feel of his steel becomes less sharp and intimidating. You're going numb.  
You start to become aware of the warmth and contours of his body.  
You can feel every fiber of his pinstripe suit, the silk of his tie, the cut of his trousers, and the leather of his shoes.  
His breath caresses your skin like a breeze.  
His teeth gleam and his tongue writhes in the corners of his vast crimson smile and your body writhes with it.  
The world looks blurry and you feel dizzy.  
Then your mind is violently yanked from its daze. All you can smell is citrus and all you can feel is pain. Your eyes struggle to focus and find the source of your agony. The Clown is no longer next to you. Looking down your torso you see him kneeling, looking up at you with an expression of smug satisfaction. You realize you’ve been screaming. You realize how much work his knife has done. And you realize that is a lemon he is pressing to your lacerations. 

You weakly kick your legs, attempting to ward him off somehow. His laugh stings your ears as much as the acid stings your cuts. He gives the wedge a long squeeze as he stands up. Mirthlessly, J shoves the rind in your mouth. It is bitter and sour and your body stings and you’re cold. You want to go home to a warm bed, to a hot cup of tea, to safety.  
You start weeping.  
You don’t know if you’ll ever have those comforts again because, as you watch the Joker relishing your tears, you understand that he hasn’t even warmed up yet. 

 

♤♡◇♧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, please comment and review! I would like for my writing to be good enough for people to kinda sorta at least like to read it a little bit. Criticism helps! Thank you so much


	2. A Shocking Turn of Events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're still at the mercy of Mr. J's whims and his actions are all in the name of shock value.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♤♡◇♧  
> Tens units are fun. That is all.  
> ♤♡◇♧

♤♡◇♧

“I can’t believe you’re crying already,” he says with a sneer as he wipes his knife on his handkerchief, “I really expected much more of you. If you're not careful you'll salt your own wounds! HAHAAHAA!” Bile starts to build in your throat. The lemon rind the Joker used to gag you is bitter and every time your try to swallow you end up nearly choking.

“Well now if I didn't know any better I'd say this experience is leaving a bad taste in your mouth!” His howling laughter rings through the air. His fingers explore the inside of your cheek for a moment before fishing the lemon out. Your head lolls forward, small sobs of fear and hatred start to build in your chest. A gentle hand lifts your chin and the Joker gazes into your red eyes, his brows are drawn together in some sort of distorted version of concern. “Hey, it looks like you're getting cold feet…” he reaches up and strokes your numb palms, “and hands for that matter. Heh heh.” You've had enough puns and in your disgust you spit square in his face. His features turn to shock for a split second before his rage strikes. Like lightning his hand grabs your neck and pushes hard. The bullseye you're strapped to pitches backwards, coming to an abrupt and painful stop. You're now laying horizontally, the air has been knocked out of you, and Mister J’s hand still holds your arteries tightly. Somewhere in your mind you contemplate giving in before it gets worse. If the end of this means the end of you then why delay? Maybe if you just close your eyes...

“Just WHAT were you THINKING, HMM?” He yells as he releases his grip on you. You gasp and desperately drink in the chilly air. It burns your chest but you are grateful for the pain. The irony does not escape your notice and somewhere deep deep inside you, you snicker. Joker makes a spry leap onto the target that's now more akin to a table or, depending on how this all goes, a slab. J stands over you, and then squats to sit, placing his weight upon your pelvis. “Really. WHAT were you thinking,” he asks while wagging his finger as he wipes his face. Then, with a guttural growl, “ANSWER ME!” You flinch at the rumble of his voice and vaguely register that you could feel it vibrate in your body. You ask whether or not he's going to kill you. He gives an exaggerated shrug, “I haven't decided yet.” You ask why he's doing this. Mister J’s eyes widen as he chuckles and scratches his head. “WHY, eh? Hmm,” he frowns, “you know, I guess I hadn't thought about it. I had the idea for a little fun and you happened to be the first person I saw,” then he scowls and shrugs, “I mean, sure, I've got a gal that LOVES my abuse, but there's something rewarding about what you and I have here. When it's too easy it just doesn't feel right. So, here we are,” the corners of his mouth turn upwards again, “I'll tell you though, with luck like this I would advise you against buying a lottery ticket! HEEHEEHEEHHAHAAHAHAHAHOOHOOHOO!”

Appalled, confused, and feeling sick, you go limp and start to gently sob. Joker dismounts the table and chuckles to himself as he wipes your tears and checks your bonds. He runs his fingers under the leather and inspects your skin. Then, stopping at your waist, he unbuckles the clasp and lets the straps fall to the sides. You didn't realize how much you had sweated under the shackle until the air hit. As though he knows what is happening, the Joker blows gently on your chafed belly. Your skin turns to goosebumps and your hips rise from the table ever so slightly. Joker sees this and he snickers, a strange mischievous expression passing over his face. Mister J enjoys a slow giggling mosey to the head of the bullseye. He produces a glass of water with a winding, looping, brightly colored straw. Stooping, he lifts your head and guides the straw to your mouth. It's just water but it tastes like ambrosia. You suck it down greedily. You look up at him, feeling grateful and also disdainful. He was watching and biting his lower lip. He cups your chin to pull your gaze deeper into his. You can feel his proximity acutely. He shifts his weight, adjusting his trousers, gyrating ever so slightly.

“You've reminded me of a recent conversation I had with a friend of mine. A Fastidious fellow and a bit tormented. EVERYTHING he does is deliberate, you see,” he pauses while he pulls out a box from under the table and begins to rifle through it, “The man has no concept of impulse. There's always a pause and consideration and coin flipping and planning and UGH can you imagine?” Joker finds what he's looking for and starts to unload. There are wires and what appears to be a battery pack, small plastic pads and metal rods. “so I tells him, ‘I think if I ran my life like you do… I think I'd go CRAZY! Hahahahahaha!” His knife clicks open again and you struggle against your shackles. Joker sucks his teeth and arches an eyebrow. “If you get cut this time it will be your own fault! Stay still and you'll be juuuust fine.” You hold your breath and attempt to remain motionless. You stare at the black nothingness that looms past the pale lights.

You can feel his blade dancing over you again, this time on your thighs and up between your legs. You try your hardest not to flinch. The pants you are wearing do nothing to dull the sensations. Your sensitive nerve endings prickle but you stay still like you were told. He hums a tune to himself as his blade glides under the fabric at your knee. The steel slices the fabric open without resistance and one leg of the pants is slowly bisected from knee to hip. Joker takes a glance at your face which is twisted in determination as you struggle to remain still as stone. He smiles cruelly and repeats the process with the other leg, this time moving more slowly and purposefully, trying to coax a reaction from you.

An undesired warmth begins to radiate from your loins but you manage not to give him anything more than a deep exhale when the fabric falls away. The Joker looks mildly amused as he pulls at the purple leather on this hands, “Watch out now, my little conductor. The gloves are coming off! HEEHEEHEEHEEHEE,” he laughs as he sets them aside and cracks his knuckles one by one. His hands are as ghostly pale as his face, his nails tinged green. Then he removes his jacket, folds it, and lays it next to his gloves. He is left in a well tailored toxic green shirt and equally bright orange vest. You take in the sight of him, deciding that maybe the color combination isn't so bad and the garment is very well fitted... you snap quickly out of that line of thinking.

Your fear is renewed as the Joker sets about attaching the plastic pads to you. He presses one on each temple and one on each side of you just below your rib cage. Then with a direct gaze into your eyes he runs his nails down your torso, staying clear of your coagulated cuts, and down to your thighs. Your eyes widen with a silent plea as he removes the final bit of fabric from your pelvis, exposing you to him completely.

The Joker bites his lip and maliciously grins, “Humans are interesting sometimes,” he purrs. His fingers brush your sensitive skin and you inhale sharply. “Some beg for mercy at pain. Some beg for mercy at pleasure…” He places a plastic pad at the crevice where your thigh meets your genitals. You squirm in protest, trying in vain to close your legs but he grabs your knee and digs his nails in. “I'd be careful if I were you. If one of these comes loose, the other ones become stronger. That's just the science of it. Nothing I can do about that. Haha! AND NOW,” he says as he takes the battery pack in hand with a flourish, “without further ado!” And he turns the dial up.

Your body jerks against your will but the sensation isn't bad it's just… uncomfortable. Like a pesky younger sibling touching you after shuffling stockinged feet on the carpet. Your relief must have shown because Joker snickers and adjusts the rhythm. The muscles under the pads tense involuntarily and your eyes blur a little with each shock. You're ticklish on your sides right where the pads sit and you can't hold back a giggle. HOOHOOHOO!

You look over to see Mister J jumping up and down gleefully. Grinning wide, he steps closer and turns the dial up slightly. Your body jumps upwards and another giggle escapes you. J says nothing. His face is frozen in delight and only his eyes move as he watches your body flex and relax. He plays with you like this for what feels like forever.

You laugh.

Bitterly.

You laugh because it tickles so violently it hurts.

You question the strength of your bladder.

You can't stop your rolling giggles.

Your face hurts from from smiling.

Your sides feel like they're splitting and you feel light headed.

Your nethers are starting to drip.

You can't stop any of it... and Joker is bathing in every moment of it. Suddenly, what was a small pain becomes excruciating! Your body arches high. You struggle to look at Joker and see that he's pulled one of the pads loose and he's waving it at you mockingly. He laughs and playfully licks it before slapping it onto your mons. You're panting, wide eyed, and no longer laughing.

A volley of devilish laughter cascades from his mouth and he turns the dial and changes the rhythm again. Small beads of sweat emerge on your brow and you become aware that your brow is not the only part of your body that's perspiring. Joker reclines in a chair, leans back, props his feet up and plays with you like an rc car, slowing and revving, speeding and halting as he pleases. He keeps you on the precipice of pleasure until you start to tip over the edge. Then, he plunges you into electric pain.

He occasionally changes the location of the pads, making sure that your erogenous zones are not neglected. Over and over, you are brought from the depth of pain to the other side of pleasure but never to the edge. You have no idea how long it's gone on. This torture doesn't seem to be waning. Your flesh is sore, your muscles ache, and your mind becomes foggy as you lurch, arch, and squirm uncontrollably. The world falls out of focus.

Your nerve endings start to betray you in the worst way. You can feel pressure building deep in your belly. Your legs start to tremble and your breathing speeds up. You become aware of your moans as they become more robust. Your eyes gaze, unfocused, in his direction and you can see his blurred expressions of delight. You can hear his chortles and guffaws distantly through the buzzing in your ears.

You're at the mercy of this madman.

You can do nothing else.

So you let it happen.

You surrender.

♤♡◇♧


	3. Do Ya Come Here Often?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  “...seeing you writhe… THAT’S where the fun is!  Why, you couldn't help it! You completely lost control.  No... you GAVE me control..."
> 
> You can't stop this train from coming.   
> Choo-choo...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: There is non-consensual/forced orgasm content in this one. You've been warned.

  
  


You've Got To Be Joking part iii

 

A distant chuckle echoes in your ears as you drift between cognizance and dream.  Your mind spins in confusion as you start to regain consciousness. You're unsure how long you've been fading in and out. All you know is you've stopped fighting what's happening.  Letting your body react past the din in your ears and the ache in your muscles, you feel a pulsing between your legs. 

No longer completely tensed in a painful arch,  your body has dropped onto the table to which you are bound.  You don't try to rouse yourself from your daze any further.  Dim lights dance in your eyes and you feel your lips curl into a grimace as your muscles randomly twitch.

There is a dull pounding in your ears and heat radiates from your core, all the way through your limbs and up to your head.

 

The warmth between your thighs continues to intensify.  Awareness of an undulating, rippling sensations in your loins begins to surface and suddenly it's as if someone turned up the volume.  Your body writhes and you can hear yourself screaming.  A cruel cackle rings out as the screams become intermittent and rhythmic. 

‘wait,’ your voice whispers in the back of your mind, ‘these aren’t screams…’  Suddenly, you realize...

You're moaning. Loudly.  

You're cumming.  

You're cumming hard.

It's uncontrollable and it’s not stopping. 

Legs trembling, genitals tingling, eyes shut tight, all you can do is let your reflexes betray you.  You can feel yourself dripping and sticky. Your moans become muted as your mind starts to leave again.  You might be holding your breath but you're not sure.  You manage a small plea as you go limp. 

 

Suddenly the stimuli halts and your orgasm subsides. Your heartbeat pounds in your temples and in your groin. You're reeling, damp, and you're starting to understand what's happened. 

His fingers twirl your hair.  Hazarding a look upwards you are met with his obscene grin. That red, toothy smile that you despise. He licks his lips and strokes your face.

Bile builds in your throat. Did he just…?

 

Joker waves a bullet vibrator in your face and he snickers.

“I didn't fuck you. Not my style, Pumpkin.”  He laughs as his face lowers close to yours,  “But seeing you writhe… THAT’S where the fun is!  Why, you couldn't help it! You completely lost control.  No, wait that isn't right,” he strokes his chin, “you GAVE me control,” he flourishes, a fresh guttural round of laughter erupting from him.

“I watched it happen and it was UNBELIEVABLE! You left your body and mind for *me* to toy with! OH and you should have seen yourself! The way you looked at me helplessly, eyes unseeing, mouthing nonsense! HAHAHAHEEHEEhahahahoohoo!”  He plays as though he wiped a tear from his eye before his face falls into a heavy frown.

 

“It was pathetic.”

 

“However,” Joker continues, “that climax ripped though you and- call me CRAZY but- I think I caught you enjoying it!”

At this, your eyes well with tears. You couldn't help it. Your body committed treason against you. Did you like it? It felt amazing. But you didn't want it. You may have ground your hips into it. That's normal… right? No no, he forced you to cum. It wasn't voluntary. 

Blinking back the tears, you set your resolve: he will not make you orgasm again. He may try his hardest but you will not allow it.

 

Joker strikes you across the face.

“I see you staring me down as though you could do anything about the mess you're in. We'll guess what, toots! You ain't seen nothing yet!”  With a sharp whistle and snap of his fingers, a man emerges from the shadows to your left. The white, red, and blue makeup that's been carelessly applied to his face does not weaken his menacing expression. Impossibly tall and burly, he’s dressed in a spandex bodysuit.  Every part of him is exceptionally large.

 

With terrified eyes locked onto this new assailant,  you start to struggle to close your knees and pull at your restraints once more, to no avail. Visibly confused, Joker looks at you, then to his thug, then back to you.  Realization dawning, he then doubles over with peals of delighted laughter. Running out of breath, he gestures for the thug to approach you. Moving slowly and deliberately, the giant man comes forward. Your eyes widen in fear and you begin to hyperventilate. 

“No one touches my TOYS so what are you so scared of?” Joker trills. “No kidding. Scouts’ honor!”  three long pale fingers point to the sky.

“Heh heh As far as THIS bit goes,”  he gestures between him and you,  “you haven't even heard the punchline!”

Suddenly your nose erupts with blinding pain, your eyes sting violently and you think you taste blood.

 

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING, YOU OAF? When did I say ‘punch them dead in the nose?!’” Joker howls. Through the stars dancing in front of your eyes you see the ox shrink with fear, his fist clenched close to his body. Even this behemoth cowers in front of the clown. The Joker’s face is contorted with anger like you've never seen. His exaggerated features are no longer comical. His mouth twists in an unmeasurable sneer. His vivid irises are nearly consumed by blackness as his pupils dilate with murderous intent. 

“I- uh- I'm sorry Boss, sir, really. I thought-”

 

“Oh you DID, did you?  THINKING was your first mistake!” Joker spits the words and they drip with contempt as he advances on the thug.

Stuttering, the henchman squeaks, “b-but… that's th-the q-q-queue…?”

The Clown stops in his tracks and straightens up and his rage abruptly subsides. His shoulders relax and he crosses his arms, his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose as he breaks a bashful smile.

“You know, that's pretty funny! I forgot my own joke! ‘Punchline!’ HA-HA! What will I come up with next? HOOHOOHOO heh heh heh ugh…”

 

With a shrug and a playful pout Joker pats the thug on his flinching shoulder. “Listen,  ya done good. Now, go get what I need next.  We have to get on with things. We won't hold the attention of the audience much longer if we keep on with all of this meaningless dialog!” 

J looks at you and flashes a comical wink and a grin.

 

The Clown Prince turns on his heels and seems to glide to you. He produces a pen light from his pocket and gently inspects you in quick fluid motions.  He holds your eyes open, checking your pupils, gently adjusts your nose. “not broken” he mutters to himself as he mops up the blood with a bright yellow pocket square.  You can't take your eyes off of him.  He presses his fingers to your pulse, moves down to the sweat-stained leather straps, adjusting the way they sit on your chafed skin,  and then he pauses at your thighs.

You can't look at him now, not without lifting your head and you don't dare. You freeze when you feels his fingertips glide over the mess that's congealed between your thighs. He clicks his tongue and sharply slaps your leg.  You suck in your breath in anticipation...  But you are welcomed with an unexpected warmth that blankets your thighs. Exhaling,  raising your head off the table.  

 

The giantine grease painted man stands stiffly at your feet holding a flowery delicate ceramic basin which looks miniaturized in his large hands. Steam rises from it in transparent tendrils. To your right,  J is leaning slightly over you,  softly mopping up your cum with a hot damp cloth. His mouth is fixed with focus as he chews on his cheek while he works.  His hands are warm and gentle as he parts your legs for better access to wash you further.  His movements are slow and his eyes are almost... affectionate?  There is a gentleness in the way his eyes move under heavy lids and full lashes.  A smirk still tugs at the corners of his mouth but the sadism is gone.  His attention is without malice.  He is caring for you.  

 

Transfixed at the overall image, a giggle bursts from your lips.

Joker stops in surprise and his neck slowly twists towards you.  The laughter catches in your throat as he wrings the cloth out over you and tosses it to the thug. As he slowly brings his face to yours, his nails graze your skin and you shiver when his mouth widens, showing his teeth in a snarl.

 

“Is something funny,”  he growls so deeply you barely hear what he's said. 

His nails dig into your ribs and you gasp.  His breath undulates over your skin bringing you goosebumps.  You try to turn your face away but he squeezes your cheeks and roughly pushes your face further to the side.  You whimper when you feel his mouth near your ear.  His breathing becomes more ragged,  ghosting over your neck and in your hair, sending shivers.  A dry chuckle sounds quietly in your ear.  His palms start to feel clammy as he runs them over your chest, barely touching you and yet sending more chills descending down your spine. 

“I asked you a question,”  he whispers in your ear as he takes one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, twisting it painfully.  

“What's so funny, hmmmm?”

 

You don't hear his final hum as much as your feel it.  He nuzzles your neck and you squirm.

Attempting to find your voice you clear your throat.

You breathlessly admit the humor in the situation and he moves to place his head next to yours, gazing down the table at your point of view.  He doesn't release your nipple but instead takes the other one between the fingers of his other hand and rolls it playfully between his thumb and forefinger.  He giggles into your neck.

“And here I thought comedy was lost on you!  You hear that, you big brute? 

This one thinks you're funny!

Personally,  I just think you're a joke.”  

There's a ringing in your ears as J guffaws, still crouched by you.

 

He waves the man away, who leaves looking a little dejected.  The only movement for the next couple of minutes is Joker’s fingers as they play with your erect buds and he hums idly and tunelessly in your ear.  With a small grunt he stands and dips his fingers into your hair before letting his hands glide to cup your face.  His eyes glitter with mischief and his thumb traces the shape of your mouth.  His other hand rakes down you body, around your cuts, down to your legs and he swiftly takes a hold of your sex before you can react.  You shout and he firmly covers your mouth,  sending you a strangely approving glance before he returns his focus to your nethers.  His digits move on your skin like feathers,  teasing your nerves to life.  He plays with your delicate folds,  sometimes pressing,  sometimes rubbing,  sometimes pinching.  Your eyes close and your genitals swell as the blood starts to flow to them again.  When his fingers tease your entrance you involuntarily grind against them and the hand over your mouth presses down harder.  

 

“I said fucking isn't my style,  did I?”  He drawls,  “I hope this isn't terribly UNFASHIONABLE.”

 

Your eyes flutter when his fingers tease more fervently and threateningly.  You can't see what he's doing but you can see his hips move almost imperceptibly against the table and his trousers are pulled tight around his obvious erection.  As though hearing your thoughts he presses himself harder against the table as he moves his eyes to meet yours.  Mockingly,  he wipes his hand on his pants  showing you how shamefully wet you are.  His hand lingers on his cock and he rubs it firmly as he worms his thumb into your mouth.  His eyes have darkened with dangerous hunger.  Distracted by his intense gaze,  you gasp in surprise as cold lube splashes onto you.  

Piercing green eyes rove over your body as he warms the lubricant with his hand,  running his thumb back and forth against your tongue.  

You're dripping and goose pimpled. He presses his fingers steadily against your opening.  You fervently wish he had strapped your torso down again so that you couldn't oscillate the way you are. At least moving wasn't possible then. At least it wasn't your fault then.

No, no, you remind yourself.  This is not your fault.  You can't help what's happening.   You *are* still tied down.  You *don't* want this.

 

Your choke as he presses his digits inside of you.  The way he's penetrated you is not rough,  but it's too fast and your body isn't ready.  His mouth curls into a lewd sneer.  His stare unwavering,  he pushes knuckle-deep inside of you,  holding you there firmly impaled upon his fingers.  Unable to move lest you risk your own injury,  you hold your breath,  your mouth tightly closed around his finger.  It feels like an eternity before he slowly moves his fingers in and out of you.

Your jaw goes slack as your body adapts to the stimulation.  The muscles resisting against him start to relax and the sting fades.  Feeling this,  Joker increases his pace.  He starts to cackle and croon words meant to debase you.  You start to writhe in protest to your own body’s reflexes as anger colors your cheeks.  He lets the hand over your mouth drift to his swollen groin, stroking himself as he smiles absently,  relishing in your struggle.

 

His actions are deft as your heart rate increases and stifled moans start to bloom in your throat.  You're almost completely open to his manipulations.  Expertly,  he hooks his fingers upwards, hitting the right bundle of nerves.  A long and lusty groan escapes you.  J heaves a sigh of enjoyment and cups the back of your neck as he closes the gap between your faces.  Meeting his eyes,  you watch as his pupils dilate and a deep rumbling chuckle starts to build behind his bared teeth.  You are the object of his pleasure. You're a toy for his entertainment.  You are an instrument and he is playing you perfectly.  

 

You're feeling  nauseous and dirty and you begin to weep, small sobs choking you between moans.  Didn't you say that he wasn't going to do this?  You said he wasn't going to make you cum again?  You're not his whore.  You're not his show pony in this twisted three-ring circus. 

Try to stop this!

“no no no,” he purrs softly into your ear,  “you don't want to make this harder on yourself.  Just give me what I want.  Surrender.”  The last word slithers from his lips.

J’s giggles are hot on your neck, and you try to regulate your breathing but his hand allows no reprieve as he continues to coax a climax from you.  You can feel him smiling against your cheek while you struggle to fight back. His laughter becomes more robust when he climbs atop the table and presses his body against yours.  He moves with you and breathes you in while his wrist works tirelessly to defeat your resistance.

 

“Fine.  You want this to end, don't you?  You're cursing me behind those lascivious sounds. Just give in. I know you want to.”  His tongue flicks out and laps the tears and blood from your cheek. Your brows are drawn together but your eyes are pleading desperately.  He moves his forearm under your neck, lifting your chin, kissing your mouth with long lingering warmth. His lipstick is smeared across your face like a bad ink blot. His continues to caress you, kissing you, gradually chipping at your conviction. Joker smiles as his mouth grazes your clavicle and he feels your willpower dissolve.

“You're climbing”

He bites your neck.

“I can feel you on the precipice,” he moans.

His hand moves up and down, massaging your insides diligently and your hips rise and fall in a synchronizing rhythm.  He's right. You don't even need to be stroked. You can cum from his fingering alone.  You're on the edge ready to tip over.  

Joker’s breath is ragged and there's something urgent behind his voice.

“Just let go and… fall.”

Red hot heat rises to your neck.  Your hands close into tight fists,  your nails dig into your palms.  You press your head against his and he meets your pressure with a laugh.  Your hips buck uncontrollably and the entirety of his warmth stays in sync with you, feeling every twitch of your muscles as though he can consume your pleasure through osmosis.  Every nerve ending on your body is alight with sweet feverish torment. Your ears start to ring and you go deaf to everything except for your own wretched cries as your loins burst and overflow.  Joker is watching your every move now, soaked to his sleeve in your cum and cackling with abandon as he works to extend your orgasm. You can't stop it. Joker's given you a push, you've fallen and he is the only one that can bring you back from the brink. Pleasure rolls over you in suffocating waves.  His body wraps around yours as he rides the ocean you're drowning in with gleefully howling laughter.

 

Eventually your moans take on a different tone.  Your head is pounding and you're suddenly painfully aware of every bruise, slice, burn, especially the burning sting of the  wiggling claws that still spread you open.  You're held close to his chest while his leg languidly drapes over yours.  He gazes down at you, finally falling silent thought his expression remains elated.

You keep your gaze averted and bite your tongue as he withdraws his offending fingers and you are ashamed that you flinch when he brings his hand to your face.  He just chuckles softly and holds them in front of you so you can see how you've coated him to his sleeve.  

“Do you see?” he asks as he rests his head on top of yours, “do you see how easy it is once you give in? You fought so hard and for what?” Joker lowers his hand to your lips and sucks his teeth in disappointment when you try to turn away.

“STILL? Do you need another round? With an apparatus this time, maybe? Or that big goofy doofus from earlier? It's your call.  YOU are the maker of your own torment now, kiddo!”

He punctuates his sentence with a loud slurp of his thumb.  He then offers you the opportunity to open your mouth and this time you do so.

“Good job!  I really gotta give you a hand heh heh heh”

He sends his flaccid fingers down your throat and drags them over the back of your teeth on the way out, leaving you with a cold congealed mass of your own secretions pooling under your tongue. 

You retch, but make sure to shoot daggers at him when you swallow. 

 

His brows shoot into his hairline.  

“What's this enduring sass?  Are you trying to save face?” He cackles as he wipes the remainder on your cheek.

Grunting,  he moves away from you and stands upright, stretching his limbs and rotating his joints with grand flourishing movements.  You can breathe a little more easily but the smell of him lingers on your skin.

Looking over at the Joker you can see that his shirt is plastered to his torso and his hair is out of place.  White stains encrust his pants where he wiped his hands.  Looking more closely it appears that not all of what is smeared on his crotch is yours.  He twists his hand and flexes his fingers a few more times before heading out of sight, returning with the glass and straw. 

 

You eagerly lift your pounding head and he guides the straw to your mouth once more.  As you drink, Joker starts to unbutton his vest and shirt with his free hand.  He shivers slightly as the air hits his pale sweat-cooled skin.  There is bitterness at the back of your tongue that you can't seem to wash out but the cool drink is such a relief. His eyes roll down at you and he combs his fingers through his hair with a chuckle that has some fatigue behind it.

“WHEW!” He huffs, “you kinda wore me out! You were a surprising amount of fun.  Definitely worth the effort,  take it from me!” 

The straw finally comes up empty except for some sad dry slurping. He sets it aside and kneels to be at eye level with you again.  This green gaze consumes you once more.  His eyes seem to regard you with tenderness, maybe even admiration?

“Are you tired, too?” His face looks oddly genuine. He plays softly with a lock of your hair and you notice that, yes, you are very tired. Your eyes feel heavy and your thoughts are growing fuzzy. 

Joker’s face starts to blur around the edges of your vision but you can see his concerned expression relax into a slow menacing smile.

 

He stands.  All you hear before the drugs take you under is a maniacal laugh as Joker calls into the darkness, “Come on, you cretins! Get this one cleaned up for the next round!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever the attention whore, I appreciate any and all comments and criticisms.  
> That which hurts me makes me stronger so hit me, baby!  
> (Did I make this weird? I think I just made this weird...)


	4. Yackity-Yack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Face fucking. It's just... face fucking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to let you know: oral rape violent non-con is amped up here (as well as psychological manipulation, maybe?)  Please, if you are susceptible to TRIGGERS this is your WARNING not to proceed further…
> 
>  

 

♤♡◇♧

...Levitating, touched by a thousand hands, roughly gripping and clawing at your brutally bruised flesh.  You're bleeding and blinded. Lanky white arms reach through you and pull you down into darkness,  their impossibly long fingers tearing open your rib cage.  Viscera spills from your torso and you float again, ascending towards a growing flame as though you have become absolutely weightless. Icarus towards the sun ...

 

The stench of sulfur invades your nostrils, rousing you from your drugged dreams.  With a heavy fog permeating your brain, you peek through your lashes and squint into the lights that still hang above you.  There sounds a scratch, a hiss, and then the smell of burning wafts over again. 

It doesn't take any effort to remember what has happened or where you are.  Even drifting in the residue of a drug induced coma couldn't make you forget the way… the way you came… or how good it felt to... to give in…

You shake the thoughts from your mind and focus on locating the source of the noise.  You try to twist your body to look around but you find you cannot move at all.  Your entire body from your shoulders to your ankles is encased in a thin layer of plastic wrap, completely hindering your mobility.  It's rather cozy in an odd sort of way.  Like you're wrapped in an unfeeling immovable hug.  ‘I'm losing my mind,’  you think wryly. 

 

The match strikes continue and J comes into view, plopping onto the metal chair he's dragged with him.  Kicking up his feet, he strikes another match and languidly takes you in. You try to gauge his mood but his face gives no clues about your fate. The corners of his lips are turned upwards but that indicates nothing.  He could be whimsically entertained by his current activity or he could be musing over his next murder.  He looks put together again in a burnt orange button up and plum slacks. His shoes are shined under pristine white spats.  Note, he hasn't donned his vest, gloves, or tie.  His hair is a little unkempt, falling to the side of his face,  looking as though it's been freshly washed. His makeup is neatly applied and you wonder if he dressed up just for you. A small smirk pulls at your cheek but you suppress it. How much longer will those tranquilizers keep you goofy in the head?

 

Joker continues to strike, burn, and blow out a few flames, carelessly tossing the spent sticks over his shoulder.

Without meaning to,  you break the silence by suggesting that maybe matches on dry hay is a bad idea.  You immediately regret saying anything both because of the look he gives you and because of the way your voice cracks from disuse.  His eyes bore into you and his lips stretch into a closed and humorless smile as he tosses a still lit match over his shoulder.  

“What does it matter, really?” he inquires, moodily. He slowly swings his shoes off of the table and leans forward.  He searches your face for an answer.  Slurring slightly, you venture to tell him that you feel like you wouldn't escape your bonds in time to flee if there were a fire. 

 

Joker reels back nearly toppling over his chair in mock surprise.

“My dear, do you feel UNSAFE? With ME?” He grasps at his chest “I ache at the thought!” a trill of giggles explode from him before his face drops into a frown.

“Let me ask you: do you know what I've been up to while you napped?”  You open your mouth to protest his use of the word ‘nap’ but quickly decide against it.  “You've been more than safe! You have been washed, dried, disinfected, stitched, brushed, mopped, swept, waxed on, waxed off, secured, taken apart, put together, and cleaned out. I've even kept my guys away! You should hear the things they'd like to do to you! HOOHOOHOO!” 

 

He giggles before his voice drops into a deep growl,  “But you're mine now and I've told them as much. They know the consequences if they touch something that belongs to me.” he clicks his tongue and lights another match.  His brooding continues for a few beats as he holds a burning match and stares into its flame, looking bored.  When that one is spent,  he lights another and holds it over your chest.  Your eyes widen and you start to feel panicked as he frowns absently and attempts to balance it perilously on his fingertip. 

Sluggishly scrambling for a way to save yourself,  you manage to say, “thank you... for taking care of me.”  

 

It's merely a whisper but it falls on his ears like a grand symphony. His smile warms up. For a moment his eyes close,  transfixed,  until the fire burns down and singes his fingertips, eradicating his improving mood.  He curses as he sucks on them and tries to shake the pain away.  With a shrug of his shoulder and a laugh he speculates aloud that even pain is meaningless.  He grins mirthlessly,  placing his elbows on the table, cupping his chin in one hand.

His eyes hold yours as his other hand moves languidly over your cocoon.  His face is still fixed with a grotesque grin, but his eyes are dead and tired.  Concern must have passed over your face because Joker straightens his back and attempts to blink away his malaise.  He walks his fingers over you with a little more enthusiasm.  The plastic doesn't dull any sensations.

 

He settles into shallow contentment as he traces the contours of your body through the cellophane.  He is obviously distracted, but he perks up briefly each time your muscles twitch at his touch.  Deciding that it's best if you keep him entertained, you allow small gasping breaths to fall from your lips. His hair drapes in front of his face but you can see his smile as he starts to stroke your stomach. “You were thrashing so badly, you see, you were tearing your sutures, SPOILING the cleaning job we had done,” J pokes your bandages and you flinch. He chuckles, “I wanted to keep you as FRESH as possible so here we are.” 

 

His nails glide over your encasement and you sigh. He smiles, licks his lips, and raises an eyebrow.

“You like this, do you?”

Silently, you take an assessment. You're wrapped snugly, but not so tightly that you're losing circulation.  You're warm and maybe a little sweaty, but your wounds no longer sting. If your muscles are sore, you can't tell because you haven't moved them much.  The solid unforgiving table has become cushioned and you're pretty sure there's a pillow under your head.  You are vulnerable but your fear has largely dissipated.  

Besides if all he wants is to make you come for him, well, there are worse fates… 

Offering a genuine smile, you attempt to nod.  Joker’s face splits into a grin. At a cursory glance you see that his smile isn't the only thing that's growing and your body reacts to the sight of his pants pulling taut.  

 

You unconsciously bite your lower lip.

 

He notices.  

 

With a sharp click, a small switchblade is presented before your eyes and you're suddenly not feeling so at ease.  You close your mouth tightly as he lowers the shining blade to your face. A deep chuckle rumbles in Joker's chest as he runs the knife over your cheek.  Whispering, shushing, J’s hand grabs your face like a vice and he sneers, laughing wildly.

The cold steel feels eager for blood just like its handler. A tongue flicks out from between crimson lips, mopping up the pools of saliva that have gathered at the corners.  The blade digs into your skin along your cheekbone. Your eyes fix upon Joker's mouth,  you slowly open your quivering lips to utter a plea but his laughter blasts and, with barely a movement, your face screams with stinging pain as he makes a horizontal slice a couple of inches below your eye. You cry out and try to thrash about but you are completely thwarted by your swaddling.  Not that you could effectively fight back anyway. Your eyes are still heavy and your reactions are slow due to the drugs. 

 

He stands in his favorite spot, looming over you at the head of the table. His eyes are alight with malice.  Holding your head steady he presses his knife to your cheek once more. With a deep meditative sigh manic green eyes roll down to yours. He makes another incision, this one slow, jutting vertically below the last cut, curving  upwards at the end.

“You fuel me, my lovely little toy,” his fingers run through his hair energetically,  “I was really in a slump today. Feeling a little BATTY.  I mean, usually the ridiculous FUTILITY of the world is LIBERATING, but lately…”

His words trail off.

Quickly rousing himself he grins down at you and stretches his arms wide.  “THAT'S why you're here, after all, and you.  are.  INVIGORATING.”

He runs the false edge of his switchblade over your lips, cleaning his knife of your own blood.  Your eyes shut tight.  Suddenly his voice is in your ear and cold metal is pressed to your jugular. 

“Remember when you said you were comfy-cozy?”  He laughs maniacally. “Well,  how do you feel now?”  AHAHAHAHAHAHahooahooahooHeeheeheeheh Tears well behind your eyelids. They sting as they roll in heavy beads down your face.  You suck in the air sharply when they pass over your cut,  which only incites more tears.  Joker’s chuckles dance through the air.

 

You start praying to several deities when he is  abruptly silent and he suddenly slams his fists down upon your thighs.

“You energize me like a new BATTERY!”

His palms rub the place where your bruises will soon be blooming.  Up to your chest and down to your feet, his knife grazes every sensitive spot you have. Occasionally he heavily slaps or punches your legs and arms.

“You're like a breath of fresh air!” A sharp solid jab to your ribs knocks the wind from your lungs and you choke and gasp desperately.

He croons as you try to gulp down air.  Meanwhile, his breath blows sensually on your nipples,  your neck, your ear, and your stomach. As he hums an unknown melody,  he moves around your table,  continuing to confuse your nerves. 

 

“You're a cup of sweet cocoa on a cold lonely night,” he says when your lungs start to inflate normally again. His scorching mouth lingers over your sex. You feel the pressure of his tongue gliding over your wrapping and your senses start to come alive.  He continues to caress you through the saran and,  despite the barrier, you can feel  _ everything _ .

You flex a little and J feels you bucking against his lips and you suck in a sharp breath. Something rattles in your chest. Everything hurts and every automated reaction that contracts any of your muscles sends shock waves of pain.

Heh Heh Heh Heh

His motions don't stop. Determined hands press on your hips while his mouth sucks and nibbles the plastic. J will do anything to watch you react. To him, you're nothing more than entertainment.  You're aching, sore, and unsure what kind of lasting damage has been inflicted upon you.  This immobility is torture. His incessant prodding is torture. The boiling in your loins is torture.

And the Clown has come  _ alive _ for it!

 

Your body responds to his stimulation and you feel sick as you become rigid with desire. Finally, you find your voice and start to shout for him to stop, begging for a reprieve.  You're trying to distract yourself from your reflexive arousal, but your achievement is even better than that: he stops.

The Joker lifts his face and moves leisurely towards the head of the table, his tight smile further warped by smeared makeup.

You lose steam when you make eye contact. Unchanged is his expression, but behind it is a building rage. When he opens his mouth to speak nothing comes out and he puts his fingers to his temples for a moment before trying again.

“So, *pumpkin*” his voice wavers in anger, “you don't like what I was doing? HMM?” You don't dare respond.  With a sharp inhale through his nose, he continues. “Maybe,” his volume increases incrementally, “MAYBE you feel like GIVING a little. HHMMMM?”

With a resounding open handed hit to your face he disappears into the dark.

 

Only gone for a heartbeat J returns with something that catches the light menacingly. Stalking back to you like an animal about to pounce, he grabs your face hard enough to bruise and starts to pry open your jaw.  He brings the device to your mouth ready to insert it.  It's smooth metal with a rough looking leather strap attached.  The metal is an O-ring roughly 7 cm in diameter. From the outer edge of the ring branches four curved prongs. 

He growls before unlatching something at the edge of the table. Suddenly your head drops backwards about 45° and you watch as J comes closer. He glares with a searing hatred and his smile stretches inhumanly wide. "...snice you didn't want to keep your BIG MOUTH SHUT..."  Bringing the apparatus to your mouth, he lets the straps fall behind your head.  Supported on your cheeks by its legs it looks like an insect that's ready to sting.  You can feel his hand grasp the leather thongs behind your head and he pulls downward slowly.  Cold steel scrapes your face as the ring nears your lips but you close your mouth tightly. 

 

Increasingly irritated he pinches your nose between his thumb and forefinger and simply waits.  He hums and taps his foot impatiently and the world starts to swim before your eyes again. Unable to hold your breath any longer, your eyes and your mouth open wide and Joker yanks downward HARD. It hits your teeth and your lower lip is caught, but you're now successfully muzzled. Without leaving any slack, the straps are secured at the nape of your neck.  J examines the fit, adjusting your lips and checking the placement against the back of your teeth.

Tears flood your eyes as you behold the glee in this monster’s face. Your jaw is wide, lips stretched painfully, and your mouth is completely open.  There is no way for you to close it and swallowing is proving difficult. 

Once he's satisfied with the fit, Joker crouches and inhales deeply, watching tears fall heavily from your eyes, rolling downward towards your ears and hairline.  With a giggle, he catches a few on his tongue and smacks his lips with relish. 

 

“I'll bet you're wishing you had kept quiet now. Heeheehee!”

Standing, he walks his fingers playfully towards the fly of his pants. With a sultry wiggle of his hips he draws down the zipper and, with a sob and a slight shake of your head, you are confronted with his painfully erect member. The way you're positioned your face level with his groin.  With a swift step Joker closes the gap between you.  Placing the weight of his cock on your chin, the Clown inserts two fingers through the ring and rubs them along your tongue. He dips them into the saliva that is beginning to pool by your upper lip and steps back so you can watch as he applies it to his cock and starts to stroke himself.  His hand glides over his pale veiny phallus.  His thumb spreads a bead of precum over the bell-end and he puts his fingers in your mouth again, this time nearly into your throat. 

“I want you to know that I am making an exception for you.  I don't do this with just any toy I play with. You're…” his knuckles stroke your cheek affectionately, “special.”  A soft yes malicious smile cracks. 

 

You make a small squeaking panicked noise and squeeze your eyes closed as he teases his rock-hard dick around your lips. He glides through the ring, into your mouth and rubs the tip on your tongue. Joker slowly pushes himself further towards your throat. He encounters resistant when he reaches your uvula. Pulling out a bit, again smearing your spit over his shaft he thrusts with force, breaking past the barrier, and is greeted with your gag reflexes. J lets out a long lusty moan and you can feel his cock twitch. 

 

It's hard to breathe. What little bit of air you can take in is permeated with the smell of his musk. You have a strong gag reflex and the more you choke the more you try to swallow, which makes you choke again and the cycle continues. All you can do it try not to vomit. It continues like this for a few strokes before he withdraws himself completely and taps the head on your chin. Looking down at you, he smiles and glides back into your throat. He holds your head in his hands, cupping the back of your neck, and presses inside your throat as deeply as he possibly can.  You try to breathe through your nose and you're mostly successful despite gagging repeatedly.  Every time you choke J sighs and giggles a little and strokes your cheek with his thumb.  He pulls out again and you gasp for air.  Strings of saliva hang between your mouth and his cock.  Some starts to drip over your eyes.

 

Joker lets your head drop and takes a small step back so you can take a few breaths. You groan in protest as he flashes a look of amused smugness before invading your mouth again.

He starts more slowly this time, thrusting a little ways past your lips, stroking your hair as he holds your head in his hands again. With each thrust he inches a little deeper and his laughter starts to build with each advance.  His tip penetrates past the opening of your throat and his laughs become gleeful as he withdraws and renters a few times,  testing your resilience.

He starts to thrust faster and deeper.  His girth makes your esophagus ache as it stretches you. You gurgle.  J grips your neck firmly as his rhythm speeds up. He slides his palms over your neck, feeling the impression of his cock as he works his hips against your face. He makes you take his cock to the base and fucks your throat aggressively. You can do nothing but close your eyes and focus on relaxing your throat and breathing. His laughter is incessant and cruel.  You start to drool on your own face as he fucks your helpless mouth. The more fervently he pounds the more your saliva froths and runs into your nose. He's laughing and watching with delight as you swallow his length.  He's saying terrible, violent things, calling you names, humiliating you. 

 

Just when you think you may pass out yet again his fists grasp your hair.  J’s breath becomes ragged and stuttering giggle-moans escape him. You can feel his balls tighten against his body as his climax gathers. His cock begins to slide in and out of your throat with an irregular rhythm as he tries to hold himself at the edge of orgasm.  You realize he's prolonging this rape and sob feebly.  He pauses for an instant before patting your cheek.

“Do that again,” he breathes.

You sob again and he yells out with glee and begins fucking you with renewed fervor. He instructs you to moan on his hungry member.  Painfully overwhelmed by everything, not wanting to actively please him but also unsure of what other option may lurk behind door number 2, you begin to cry. Your blubbering massages his cock and he gets high on the sensation as well as the sound. He throws his head back and basks in your bitter tears for what feels like an eternity.  

 

Joker laughs and eggs you on, telling you what he sees at the end of his dick. He doesn't slow or stop. He growls and moans as he describes the other ways he plans to debase you. 

Finally you can once again feel him start to tense and he grabs a fist full of your hair. Face fucking you balls-deep, pulling your head upwards to meet his momentum, Joker releases his seed in an explosion of throbbing, grunting, laughing thrusts. His cum is hot and you can feel it make its way to your stomach. Howls of raucous moaning laughter fill the room punctuated by dizzy chuckles as he savors his last spurts.

 

J sighs and shakes his head vigorously. You can feel his cock twist in your gullet. He's softening but he still stands with his cock twitching on your tongue, arms akimbo, standing tall, slowing his breath. You're stuck in limbo. He's not thrusting but he's still in your mouth. You're not hurting but you're disgraced. Mortified. 

When he's flaccid  he steps back and surveys your condition. 

Uncontrollable guffaws cause J to nearly double over as he tucks himself back inside his pants.

“you. Are. A. Mess!”

He points at you an laughs so hard he starts to cry.  He waves his hands as though to fan away his amusement while he reaches down to undo the gag in your mouth.

 

Once the gag is out your sobbing becomes hysterical as you bounce between wanting to swallow and wanting to vomit. Your face is covered in congealing fluids.  You can feel gobs of saliva and snot and cum and blood running down into your hair.

The world is still inverted but you think that even if you weren't hanging over the edge of a table you may not know which way is up.

Your head is pounding and your vision is blurred with your tears and, through all of it, that laughter invades your every cell.

You don't even have the energy to be angry.  

You feel weak and broken. 

Your bawling is uncontrollable. 

If he would only stop LAUGHING!

 

But as he lifts your head and resecures the table ledge, he wipes your face and regards you with curiosity. His handkerchief is soft and his lips are taut. His touch, so violent a few moments ago, has become ginger.  Joker opens his knife which causes you to scream anew but he raises his hands as a sign of peace and begins to cut away the cellophane bonds. Every few seconds he looks your way with a raised eyebrow and a smirk playing on his lips.  When you're free all you can do is curl yourself into a tremulous ball and try to become as small as possible. Sorrow spills from you in heart-wrenching waves. And all the while he laughs maniacally.

The cool hits your skin like an arctic wind. You're unsure what is causing you to shiver more- the cold room or your despair. You cover your face and lay paralyzed.  

‘This is your fault,’ you scold yourself, ‘you didn't behave and now you've become this…’  descriptors escape you. You don't know what you are anymore. 

 

Joker’s touches your shoulder. You flinch and wail but you can't put up resistance when you're lifted into his arms. Clinging to his collar and helpless in his embrace you warily look at him but can't make eye contact. He's smiling broadly and his brows have nearly disappeared into his hairline. He cradles you gently. His laugh rings in your ears but his mouth is strangely still. You can't shake the noise of his giggling orgasm or his wanton blood lust. Your throat is dry as sandpaper and swallowing is twice as abrasive.  You tuck your sticky face into his shoulder and soak his collar with salt and brine. You cry and scratch at him weakly. This pandemonium in your head is too loud to be coming from one man. He is projected in stereo all around you. It consumes from all sides. 

 

As Joker carries you into the darkness, his disembodied laughter is echoed with mad, screaming laughter of your own.

♤♡◇♧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... so, that happened.  
>  Let me know how it rubbed ya!
> 
>  
> 
> Also, @agt, scarring in this chapter was yanked from the torture of Jason Todd in Arkham Knight. I can't stand the thought you thinking I ripped you off!


	5. Aftercare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when you're released from your bonds?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These last two chapters have a slightly different tone and I chose to narrate on behalf of the reader a lot more.  
> (I know, i know, how dare I tell you what you're thinking and feeling? Haha!)  
> I can be pretty bossy sometimes, so there. xp
> 
> Anyway, I hope you still enjoy it and please do let me know!

 

> ♤♡◇♧  
>    
> 

...Warm and weightless and comfortable.  No pain. Nothing to fear. Just a gentle glow. Your eyes close in contentment. Slowly a quiet lilting voice dances it's way into your consciousness.  It sounds distant. The melody it's singing is familiar but- try as you might- you can't remember where you've heard it before. 

It sounds how cotton candy tastes, like how grass smells, or how hugs feel.

Suddenly all goes silent.  Your ears search for the sing-song voice but it's as though all sound was sucked into a vacuum. You can't even hear your own breathing.

A whisper snakes along the back of your neck. It caresses your ear, a wraith-like zephyr that strokes your neck and curls itself around your body before disappearing like vapor. You feel words being spoken against your skin. The puffs of their passing tickles your body.  

They are full of heat and promises and pain. 

pain. pain...

Your hand rises to touch your aching wet cheek and then

You wake up.

  
  


Your eyes shoot open and you spasm in shock.  Water sloshes all around you and you grasp for anything solid.

You are gently engulfed in a tight embrace, your face is pressed against a warm naked chest and you can hear the heart beating within. 

You know who it is and,  instead of fighting, you go rigid and listen to the noises his insides make.

 

After a few moments the waves you created die down.  Moving nothing more than your eyes, you take in your surroundings. Tile walls that are clean but stained with age and neglect.  Dim lighting. The smell of fresh laundry and medical ointment. You're in a large tub, the water at perfect body temperature. You float just above the bottom of the bath, cradled delicately in the Joker’s lap.

 

His fingers start to pet your head and his humming resumes. It echoes deep in his ribs, reverberating against your cheek. Fragrant suds start to build around your ears and creep down your forehead,  his hand swiftly wipes away the soap creepy towards your eyes. Joker continues to massage your scalp while his other arm is wrapped around your torso, holding you close, keeping your head above water.  

 

J is warm. His touch is soft. His voice is low.  Your eyes close again and you let your body relax. Your hand comes to rest on his forearm and he tenses for a moment.  The clown purrs as he rinses the lather from your hair. Your throat feels dry and sore. Your lips feel like they're cracking.  You hoarsely tell the room that you're not sure if you're awake.

He chuckles into your hair and continues to wash your skin with slippery hands. Timidly,  you start to sit up as he begins to wash your back. Joker raises his hands, surrendering your body.  A tired glance at his face reveals his usual smile but something in his eyes is different. There's no mischief.  No malice. Shaking your head you settle yourself between his legs, your back to him so that he may keep washing you.

 

J giggles quietly before resuming his task.  He kneads your sore muscles and- maybe it was a chill from the air but- you think at one point he kisses your shoulder. You gaze into the sudsy water.  Something inside you lurches when you see he's still wearing his pants, the purple polyester floats around his ankles. His trouser socks are checkered and look as though they have been mended several times.  You're nude, of course. It doesn't even feel like a vulnerable state to be in anymore. Your fingers tap in the water, playing with the water tension before you cup your hands and bring them to your face. The water is tepid but it feels good. Sigh.

 

Joker’s arms hook under yours and he gently pulls you to lay back against his chest.  Your eyes stare unfocused at the ceiling. A naked Edison bulb dangles from a cord, swinging ever so slightly. 

“We will have to get out soon,” he slides his hands over your midsection, “The water is getting cold.”

Despite his statement he does not move save for the caress of his hands. You don't want to move.  You don't want to stay. 

You don't want to anything. 

 

Unfortunately,  the Joker is right and the bath gradually cools. Propping you against the edge of the tub,  J climbs out and, pants heavy with water, leaving large puddles with every step, retrieves a large towel from the counter.  He helps you to your feet and stabilizes you when your knees threaten to give out. He pats you dry and drapes the towel over your shoulder before leading you into the next room where he lays you in a bed. It's worn and smells of dust and time.  The pillow smells of J.

 

“How do you feel?”

A small scoff before you answer.  Tired. Weak. A little empty.

J is obviously amused by your answer.

“I'm going to patch you up again. You're pretty banged up -heh heh- but you can be fixed.”

Angry words bubble up from your throat but you choke them down. ‘Don't provoke him,’ you tell yourself. ‘He's in a good mood. Let's not ruin it. You don't need more damage done. With this man, it can always get worse.’

 

Only your eyes move as you lay there.  There is a bedside table with various antiseptic bottles, swabs, bandages of all sorts, and a variety of pill bottles, and a few knives.  You vaguely wonder what he may have in store for you next, but worry doesn't register, nor does fear. You're impassive. Stoic. Exhausted. 

There's no fight in you. You're just a fixture in this vacant motel.  You're just the doorknob or the faucet handle or the light bulb. The rest of you has gone away and you're not sure where.

 

…”that at all, eh?” 

Your attention redirects to that face that has once again become devilish.

“I said, ‘you can't feel that at all, eh?’”

Feel what?  You look down and see rubbing alcohol slowly dripping from his pale pale fingers. It falls and pools onto one of the sutured cuts on your abdomen.

Your eyebrows raise in mild interest but then you lay your head back down.

Dipping his thumb into the bottle he looks into your dead eyes and wipes the cuts on your cheek.  The fumes sting your eyes but that's it.

“How VERY interesting!” He giggles, his gentle demeanor slipping away slightly.  He prods your lacerations with much giggling interest, watching your face for reactions. The pressure makes you twitch where he touches but otherwise you feel almost numb.

 

“You won't scar too much… physically, anyway…” he says, peering at you from beneath his brows, “except for that one,” he pokes the jagged initial under your eye again, “I made sure of it.  You're mine now, toy. Do you know that?”

You repeat that you know you are his possession,  adding that you don't want to be his possession but that doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore. Maybe nothing ever did.

Your words sound hollow and your voice is not entirely your own.

 

The silence is split with high pitched unbridled laughter and Joker falls off the bed, rolling over, clutching his stomach.  HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHahahahaha

“THAT'S the JOKE, kid!  You got it! Everything that was your life everything that you were was all fluff! You'll never be that again! And why?”

You, Joker. It's because of you.

He stands and find his balance,  fighting the force of his own shrill laughter. 

“Yes, SURE, I was the  _ catalyst _ but it could have been  _ ANYONE _ or  _ ANYTHING _ at  _ ANY TIME _ ,” he says emphatically as he gestures wildly about the room. “Could have been a run of the mill rapist, a mugging in a back alley, a banana peel in the street, or a jealous lover. It could have been a car wreck caused by a drunk driver or a bad bit of fish at a restaurant don't you SEE?  A  _ bad day _ is a  _ bad day _ is a  _ bad day _ and all it takes is  _ ONE _ .  Everything in life tenuous, fragile,  and temporary. None of it MATTERS!”

 

He shouts in triumph and leaps onto the bed, settling on his side next to you,  his exuberance subsiding only slightly as he stares into nothingness, contemplating his own words.  He has brandished a knife and juggles it between his fingers idly, chuckling to himself before absently pushing his palm down upon the point of the blade.  His eyes stare beyond you and into oblivion as his thoughts wander.

You bring yourself off your pillow,  propped up on your elbows and watch as the steel digs in and begins to draw blood. ‘so he does bleed. he bleeds and he has a heartbeat and he's human. he was born but then something  _ bad _ created what he is now. no. the bad didn't create him. it  _ undid _ him.’

 

Joker chuckles louder and lets the blade cut a centimeter deeper.  He sighs with something akin to satisfaction and his emerald eyes lock onto yours. His tongue plays at the edge of his lips.  A small crimson trail of blood runs down his arm. 

Something stirs in you as you watch him bleed from your peripheral.  Your thoughts form disjointedly, and something dark tickles the back of your mind. Your breath catches in your throat as he moves closer to you and you see his pupils blown wide. The blade is no longer stuck in his palm.  Joker’s lifesource now drips onto your body as well as his own as he reaches for your embrace. His persistent eye contact draws you in like a tractor beam and you find you're pulling yourself up to meet him with a kiss.

 

It is a kiss that feels insubstantial but tastes like a carnival in a chemical fire. He meets the force of your mouth with the same torrential surrender and somewhere far, far back in your mind a voice screams.  Joker's tongue eases through your lips and past your teeth as he takes the kiss deeper. Your mind isn't swimming. It's only filling your body with sensation. The numbness begins to melt away exposing pricking nerve endings.  You feel as though your whole body is coming alive after losing circulation. 

It's pleasantly uncomfortable.

 

He pulls away from you.  His eyes rest on your face.  Yours are fixated on the gash in his hand,  still open and leaking blood on your face as he cups your jaw.  He's not screaming about it. He's laughing about it. The perversion of it sends shivers. In a burst of energy you grab his hand, pressing your thumb into his cut. He gasps loudly but you close your mouth onto his and he lets you throw him onto his back. You've got his wrists held firmly above his head with one hand, your other pressing down on his sternum, your legs holding his thighs down and your lips press hard against his.  You vaguely register the smell of burnt sugar and bonfire.

 

You feel a sudden urgent hunger and you put all of your strength into holding him down while you devour the taste of his mouth. His tongue wrestles yours and his hips rise from the mattress when you press down upon his bleeding hand. Taking his lower lip between your teeth you bite- hard. You can feel his flesh give way and J utters a deep luxurious moan. The metallic taste of his blood feeds the fire in your belly and you grind down on top of him, not feeling anything but starvation and frenzy and a need for some sort of release. 

 

You move your lips to his neck, your pelvis grinds lower over his soaked slacks.  The noises he's making sound alien. Scattered through his giggles and moans are small whimpers,  high pitched and breathy. You want to draw them from him. Feed on them. Holding yourself above him,  too far away for his thrusts to reach, you lick his neck. Along his jawline. Over his collar bone. Joker doesn't respond as intensely to these sensations.   He starts to hum again, his fingers drumming against the pillow. 

 

You sigh deeply in his ear and then, in an instant, you sink your teeth into the meat of his neck, dig your fingernails into his wrists,  and bring your hips down to grind against his swollen member. He is surprised and although you can't see it, his smile has disappeared,  replaced by shock. You're drawing blood. You contemplate taking a chunk out of him. Leave him with a scar to remember you by. 

 

Once the shock of the pain passes and endorphins rush in to the rescue,  J regains his composure and starts to fight back. He wrestles one hand free and grabs at your hair,  his fist closing tight enough to hurt but he won't pull for fear of you actually ripping his throat out.

You breathe through the pain and keep your jaw locked.  You can feel he’s breathing rapidly. His quickened pulse tattoos against your teeth.  And, through this whole thing, you can feel that his erection throbbing. 

 

After a few moments he asks,  “So, uh, what's the plan here exactly?”  Is it just you or does he sound nervous? He gives a small tug at your scalp,  to which you moan a little. J utters a wry chuckle and adjusts his hips, “he heh I don't think this what they mean when they say ‘maneater?’”  

You grind your teeth a little which sends his back arching,  further displaying his neck. You take the chance to try to latch on to another section but Joker is too quick and he strikes you across your jaw.  Your eyes snap back to his. J obviously pulled that punch, just as he does the next one and the one after that. Only a little dizzy, you swiftly leap forward and pin his shoulders with your shins,  purposefully kneeing him in the head as you do so. His arms flail and he tries to buck you off but stops when he finds himself winded.

 

“This is all VERY funny,  but i asked you WHAT is the plan, here?”  He seeths through gritted teeth.

You shake your head and comb your fingers through his hair for a few beats while you wonder to yourself how much of his scalp would pull away from his skull if you yanked as hard as you could.   Your fingers continue to stroke his green locks gently as heat builds between your thighs.

 

You pull yourself from that train of thought. Cocking your head to the side and lowering your weight to rest on his chest,  you take in his appearance. He's oddly relaxed, every muscle loosened. You're not fooled, they can spring to action with an moment's notice.  The stillness is almost worse than the struggle. A Cheshire grin beams up at you, bloodied and wicked. The wound on his neck oozes. You feel your arousal drip onto his collar bone.  

J’s eyes hold rage but also a childlike curiosity.  He is just  _ dying _ to know what you'll do next.  Further the plot, tell him the rules of the game,  hand him the cards, he will play!

You exhale through your nose and pull a face that’s more like baring teeth rather than smiling.

 

“i have no plan,” you say flatly. “i can't think straight...  i have been... undone.” your eyes wander to the ceiling, “i think i was already standing at the precipice and…”  You give a one sided shrug, “you just happened to nudge me over the edge. just one bad day…”

Your fingers slide over his lips and in the silence you absently wonder how much force it takes to rip a person’s jaw off.

 

After a few seconds of quiet,  Joker explodes with glee. His whole body shakes with guttural hoots that filter into his words

“AHA- CONGRATULATIONS!  We-heheheheh-lcome to the other side of the door!  Now the ques-sssthahaha-tion that hangs in the air is WHA-hahahahaha-T are you going to DO about it?”

Maiming Joker crosses your mind again.

Instead your fingers dance down to his neck and,  making sure to dig your fingernails into the swollen bite mark,  you squeeze as hard as you can.

 

His eyes go wide but his grin doesn't falter.  His laughing comes out in short wheezing spurts.  You watch blankly as his fists open and close, how the spittle at the corners of his mouth pools.  His eyes still shine with wild amusement. His body writhes beneath you and his groans vibrate against your palms. 

Your mind wanders to what he has done to you.  The way he took you apart. The way it hurt. The way it didn't hurt.  Your sex flexes. Your lips part and your eyes become hooded as his laughs begin to turn into gasps. Your lips draw back from your teeth.  You lean forward, pressing down upon his throat harder. You break out in goosebumps, every hair standing on end.

 

Joker looks like a caricature of himself now.  His ridiculous red smile is still plastered on his face but his eyes are bulging with fear.  His face looks bloated and bluish. HA! His body is thrashing beneath you heh heh He may not be long now.  Haha The Clown that wouldn't SHUT UP will die without so much as a peep! HAHAHA No punchline for this comic! BWAHAHAHA You're DONE,  Joker! Finished! This is your final curtain! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

♤♡◇♧


	6. Your Undoing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being unbound isn't synonymous with being free. Madness is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The climax thats hopefully not too anticlimactic. (Wink wink)
> 
> Lemme know what you do or dont like, please? I appreciate it all.  
> ♡♡ALSO be sure to check for *** at the end chapter notes!♡♡

♤♡◇♧

...You're DONE,  Joker! Finished!  This is your final curtain! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA…!

 

But suddenly something COLD happens in your stomach and rapidly spreads to your extremities. The realization dawns that you've been screaming about J’s demise with unbridled mirth.  You sound mad! Laughter is wracking your body but you can't stop it. You release your grip on the Joker and dismount, managing to avoid his claws. You step away from him while watching his recovery,  maniacal giggles spill from you like lifeblood. You’re mumbling and it is as incoherent and meandering and violent as your unhinged laughter. Your eyes are wide and wild, fixed unblinking on the madman.

 

Meanwhile, J is sputtering and gasping,  desperately trying to pull himself into a sitting position.  His eyes are bleary but they are locked on you and they speak of untold violence.  A murderous grimace stretches his lips to their limit. You know that whatever is in store for you may kill you and you should be scared.  Instead you're numb, in shock once again, and you can't. stop. laughing. 

Joker shakily rises to his feet,  grabs a knife, and starts to lumber towards you. 

Peals of laughter leave you breathless and tears start to stream down your face.  Your gut hurts. The giggles only catch in your throat for a second when he slams you against the wall behind you.  

 

His snarl twists in contrast with his painted smile and you snicker at it which earns you a powerful fist to the gut.  A stitch pulls sharply.

“Now why, Why, WHY would you do something like that?”  Joker growls deeply, his face inches from yours. The knife dances expertly around his fingers.  You attempt to stifle another round of giggling but you fail. A sharp slap across your face leaves a ringing in your ears.

Turning your eyes back to his you say, with a smile from ear to ear, “maybe i thought it was funny,” releasing a cough and chuckle.

 

He keeps you at arms length pressed firmly against the wall,  his mouth moving as though he is tasting your words. Sporadic giggles escape you as you take him in.   The seriousness of his face is a hilarious contrast to his make up. He's focusing so hard on deciding whether or not to kill you.  You can  _ see _ him weighing the options in his mind. 

 

You drape your arms over his and wait with sarcastically raised eyebrows.  A bold action, sure, but you figure if he's taking the time to think about slaughtering you then there's a good chance you're safe for now.  When the time comes, he'll surely deal out your death swiftly and without hesitation. His narrowed eyes conclude their scrutiny and his mouth relaxes.  The corners turn up ever so slightly and he sucks his bottom lip.

Joker takes hold of one of your wrists and brings his body close.  His other arm glides to your lower back, pulling you towards him. He stands, his entire weight holding you in place,  not a gap of space left between you. He can feel every part of you and you can feel every part of him. You smirk and his gaze remains relaxed but unsmiling. 

 

“The Joker,”  he muses, hands tightening around you,  “The Clown Prince of Crime,” his voice and his face lowers to yours,  “Gotham City’s most wanted,” his tongue wanders lazily over your lips,  “quietly killed in a cheap hotel at the hands of an unfortunate prisoner.”  His lips twitch. A small chuckle. A building giggle. Mirth reenters his eyes.

“What a joke!  That IS funny!”  he is overtaken with the humor and you laugh along with him. 

 

Your head feels light as you continue to laugh in time with the maniac that's held you hostage.  Your body heat radiates through his slacks and you can feel him harden against you. You behold his wounds, garish and apparent,  just like your own. Watching him bleed makes you feel feral. You crave more damage and desecration. Hurt him. Subdue him. Scar him. Surrender to him.  Mount him. Devour him. You want all of it. 

Your press against his thighs to display your arousal.  

 

“no, no, my little plaything,”  he sings softly into your ear, punctuating the last syllable with a firm thrust against you.  You heave a frustrated groan. He not-so-gently nibbles your neck and ears, making sure he can feel every twitch and contraction of your body.  Your tongue stretches from your mouth, seeking out the marks on his neck. You press your head against his and purr soft pleas of desire. You can feel him throbbing against your thigh and you are driven onward.  He giggles at your struggles that have taken on quite a different tone from before.

 

Guiding you by your lower back, he draws your pelvis upwards,  settling himself between your legs. Joker’s fingers drift over your bare skin.  His hand finds you dripping and swollen with want. You moan unintelligible random exclamations of lust and he throws his head back with a laugh.

 

“So fickle!  So indecisive! You don't know if you want to FIGHT me, FUCK me, or KILL me, DO you?” 

 

Your breath is heavy as you speak your answer into his mouth.

“the answer is ‘D: all of the above at the same time.’”

 

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHOOAHOOAHOOHEEHEEHEEHEH 

“That's the darkest thing I've heard in a LONG time!... outside of my own head, that is hoohoohoo!”

He starts moving against you in a languid rhythm.  He beckons you to follow, his body still flush with yours.  You lock your fingers behind his neck and lean your forehead to his as you arch into the sensual oscillation.  His whole body sighs in response.

“Do you know why I haven't killed you yet,  toy?”

You don't care but you don't say as much.   You instead opt to just close your eyes and enjoy the pleasant way your body aches all over.

Joker smiles.

“It's the way your react.  You are  _ unpredictable _ .  I  _ like _ that.  You may submit and you may fight,  but regardless... you're always baiting my proclivities…”

 

He takes hold of your hair and sinks his teeth into your neck, close to the same area you tore into.  He doesn't bite quite so hard, but his desire to is tangible. Your skin breaks and the rush of pain and pleasure overtakes you.  A divine sound is knocked from you. Something between a moan and a scream and a laugh. His hands grope you all over, lifting you higher,  his canines digging deeper. 

 

His mouth releases you just as his nails dig deep into your inner thigh.  You reflexively try to close your legs but he is wedged between them and there's no escape. He laughs at your gaping mouth and claws you harder.  You pry your eyes open, wanting to witness all of his sick enjoyment.

He is wild and animalistic but still very much in control. 

The way he moves communicates a dire need that matches your own.

 

He beholds you.  You are a creature composed of delightful little nuances and grand uninhibited expressions.  The way he plays your body, the way you let him, the way you play back, Joker is drinking it all in.  You sing an aggressive aria and he's eager for the breaking crescendo. 

 

Groping hands become wild,  rough, unsympathetic, especially once your feet are back on the ground.  Soft kisses become hungry and hard and then revert back again. You're all teeth and claws and venom.  You abuse each other in volleys. Biting, scratching, punching, slapping. Oh the pain is exquisite. When he bites you harder than you like, you slap him across the face and his retort is to return the strike. You're both ready to tear each other to shreds just so you can sew the pieces back together.  

You and Joker are both intent on doing harm but there's an unspoken respect growing,  you can see it in his eyes.

  
  


Your lust has you overheating.  Joker slows down and assesses the situation,  never loosening his hold on you. His persistent smile and hooded green eyes are roving over every part of you,  curtained by a disheveled mop of toxic colored hair. He sticks out his tongue as he pokes one of the cuts on your abdomen.   You hiss at the mild pain and grin at the pleasure. 

 

“You,”  he says,  tracing your contours, “are something NEW.  Heh heh I only know ONE other person who likes a debilitating power struggle as much as I do and he's not always around when I need him…”  his dick pulses.

“I've already claimed you as mine but now… bwahahahaahheeheeheeheehee!”

 

He slowly undoes the buttons on the cursed wet purple pinstripes that have kept him contained,  deliberately taking his time while making deep eye contact with you. His knuckles grind against you with each loosened button.  Reaching in his pants’ pocket, giggling, he produces a small bottle and foil packet and lets his trousers drop to his ankles. With a villainous snarl he grabs you by the back of your hair and spins you around,  bending you over. Pressing the side of your face into the cold flaking paint he starts rubbing lubricant on your back side. You can hear him snap a condom on his cock, lubing it with sloppy squishing sounds. 

 

You don't fight him aside from a few attempts to look back at him which earn you a brutal slap to your ass.  You become curious about the pain he'll cause and how long you'll limp afterwards. Will he make you bleed? How hard will he fuck you?  Until you cry? Until you pass out? Or just until you cum? Which do you want more? You don't know.

 

One of Joker's hands gropes your body,  running up and down your back and sides,  viciously clawing you in between soft sensual caresses.

Meanwhile,  the head of his member is circling around your pucker.  You moan as his hand slides through your thighs to stimulate you while he applies slight pressure against your ass.  He hums happily when you begin arching and moaning. His patience is admirable as he takes his time teasing. circling.  stroking. grinding.

You are both panting audibly,  hungry with excruciating passion.

A pale arm wraps over your shoulder and around your chest as he pulls you to an upright position.  He positions himself at your entrance and his breath becomes ragged against your shoulder. 

 

His whisper is gravelly,  hot, and thick with lust.

“You are mmmmiiiinnnneeee,”  and with that growled declaration he pushes the head of his cock inside your welcoming ass.  You can feel when his glands break through your tight opening and you gasp at the sudden stretch. His hand clamps over your mouth as he grabs your hip in a vice-like grip and slowly pushes further. 

 

Your viciously bite his palm to release your moans.  With a laugh he shakes off the pain and eases himself further into your body.  Joker rests his cheek on your shoulder blade and you can feel his smile widen as you take the rest of his length,  balls deep. You feel full and stretched opened wide. There is a stinging but you hope it will go away. You also kind of hope it won't.  

 

He heaves a content sigh and rests inside of you, savoring the feeling of your muscles relaxing to accept his invasion.  His breath ghosts over your skin and you shiver and your pucker tightens, spurring him to action. With a grunt and a giggle Joker starts to pump his hips in a moderate rhythm.  You relax into the sensation of his cock sliding in and out of you, slick and deep. 

 

You throw your head back against his chest,  arching your back so hard another suture bursts.  The sting makes you flinch and tighten. At this, Joker’s groans become more urgent and he thrusts faster.  He whoops and grabs hold of your forearms, kicking your legs apart and forcing you forward. You giggle at the sudden change of position and immediately yelp at the increased depth.  Your ass is fully exposed to J and he slams himself inside of you with fervor.

 

Whether you've had had your ass fucked before is irrelevant because you have  _ never _ had it like this.  Incoherent laughing spills from the both of you as you egg each other on.  You speak of terrible things, terrible desires, all the things that have clawed at your insides for as long as you can remember.  The sadistic Clown basks in your wanton lust and admonishes you with promises of violence beyond your own imagination. It makes you tremble with gratification. 

 

Your spine begins to ache but the stinging around your ass has gone, replaced by an overwhelming pleasure that rocks though you.  Orgasmic pressure starts to build in your abdomen. You are both getting close to finishing, laughing and moaning uncontrollably.

Suddenly he twists your arm painfully behind your back and wraps his fingers around your throat, applying enough pressure to make you gasp.  You close your eyes in surrender and await what's next. 

He yanks you towards him and his lips lower close to your ear.  His pace picks up and you can hear a faint tremble in his voice that indicates his climax is near.

 

“I haven't killed you yet,  toy...” he breathes as he thrusts violently and pulls your arm higher, “...but I WILL kill you…” 

 

J pulls your chin sideways so his mouth can consume your lusty moans as he fucks you.  You whimper at his words and his hand that returns to rub your sex, bringing your heat to its peak.  J hooks his fingers inside your cheek and pulls hard, forcing you to look him in the eye. You're both so close, tipping over the edge.

 

“And when I do kill you, my little plaything… it will be  _ perfect _ .”  

 

With that declaration you both explode with blinding force.  You push back against him and he continues thrusting as deeply as possible,  both of you making it last as long as possible. 

His knees start to go weak.  Your ears start to ring, turning into white noise.  Slowing down, your foreheads touch and you are panting hard.  Sweat drips from every pore and you're both slick with each other’s cum.

 

You exhale as he slides out of you.  With a fevered look around the room and a slight look of disgust,  J pulls the condom off and tosses it aside, ignoring the mess it makes when it hits the floor.  He stands, catching his breath, arms akimbo. 

You're leaning with your hands against the wall,   enjoying the chilly feel of your sweat evaporating.  You're a mess from head to toe again. Your chuckle because this time he is too.

The sight of him standing proud,  naked save for the pants around his ankles,  brings a chuckle to your lips. Uninhibited by restraints or commands you take the opportunity to stumble into the bathroom to bathe.

 

Standing under scalding water breathing in the steam stirs a small vague feeling in your chest.  You begin to feel like you're reemerging from the background, like you have substance again. Joker silently creeps in and sits atop the counter,  watching you with giggling interest as though he's never seen someone shower before. When the water shuts off he tosses you a towel and he falls silent,  chewing the inside of his cheek.

 

You don't speak but you tilt your head inquisitively.

He jumps off the counter and disappears into the bedroom.  Drying your hair with the terrycloth you peer into the dingy mirror on the wall.  You barely recognize your own face. Leaning forward your fingers gingerly examine your bruises.  Tender and swollen there is only a whisper of your self staring back at you. Fingers fluidly examine every bite and cut and torn stitch and black and blue spot until they come to rest on the angry raised flesh under your eye.  You trace the blunt straight line that sits atop the curlique. 

 

Joker breaks your trance with an exaggerated clearing of his throat.  He holds out a pair of vividly colored polka dotted coveralls. You stare at them, suddenly feeling uneasy.  He waves the clothes insistently, looking irritated. Snatching them from him you begin to dress. The clothes don't fit you at all but they at least smell clean.  

Somehow now that you're dressed you feel more vulnerable under J’s scrutiny. 

 

He clicks his tongue and offers a wide smile as he leads you to the door.  

“Here, this will get you home safely,”  he laughs, propping a rubber clown mask on the top of your head.

With his hand on your back he nearly pushes you out but you catch yourself on the jam and turn to him with confusion.

He laughs harshly.  

“What are you waiting for?  I'm setting you free! Go! Shoo!  Get lost!”

 

“just like that?  i can go?” 

 

“YES! GOOOO,” he smacks your fingers sharply in an attempt to loosen your grip on the door.

Your vision blurs and for a fleeting moment you think you've been drugged again until hot tears start spilling down your face.

He steps closer and lifts your chin up.

“I'll call for you when I want to play with you again, toy.” he says darkly. 

A bitter lump rises in your throat along with a wry laugh.

 

Then,  more lightly, while casually examining his nails,  “But you really should go because I want your blood on MY hands but I have a pretty little pesky Pigeon,*** you see. And if she finds out what happened just now she'll probably bash your skull in and peck at the remains.  Awfully insecure, that one. Tsk tsk,” his smile is roguish and he waves good bye. You walk away cautiously, dumbfounded, periodically looking behind you. He is still standing in the grimy doorway of the rotting motel,  waving you farewell with a sarcastic smile. After a few backwards glances, he's closed the door and gone from sight. Everything around you suddenly seem a lot darker and forbidding. 

This is a trick.  

A sick joke.  

All the way home you anticipate an attack.  He could be anywhere. This is a game to him.  It's all a game. A play for control. He's just  _ toying _ with you.  Any moment, he'll pounce upon you and drag you back to torture you and pleasure you and bring your demise.

 

But he doesn't…

 

♤♡◇♧

  
  
  


♧◇♡♤

 

Epilogue 

 

You get back to your life and try to do what you must to function within the status quo.  You do the necessary therapies and file the necessary reports and show the world you are repairing yourself.  

 

It's mostly believable.

 

But once in awhile,  when you're walking down the street,  you think you catch a glimpse of him lurking in the shadows.  Sometimes you hear his voice whispering lovely promises of unspeakable violence in your ear.  Sometimes you feel his searing breath on your neck. Very occasionally you can hear his wicked laughter distantly bounding over the rooftops as some dark figure gives chase.  

 

And sometimes,  when you think of him, you stop and caress the scar on your face.  You diligently cover it with makeups and creams every day to make other people feel more comfortable.  They don't like the reminder, you suppose, as though it happened to them.

To you it doesn't matter.  Nothing does. It's all a joke.  

Outlining the puffed skin,  tilting your face to the sky,  you close your eyes, and allow your facade of stability to unravel- if only for a moment.  Arms thrown outward, surrendering to comedic tragedy, a smile stretched taut across your face and tears in your eyes you release unbridled manic laughter into the air.

And allow yourself to be undone.

♤♡◇♧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU for the kind encouragement!   
> You will likely see more filth from me now mwahahahaha!
> 
>  
> 
> *** Pigeon is the oc belonging to the talented [ agt ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agt/pseuds/agt)
> 
> Their story can be read [ here ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8701408/chapters/19949659) and I HIGHLY recommend giving their other work attention, too. 
> 
> ♡♡♡

**Author's Note:**

> ♤♡◇♧  
> I only recently learned that the circus music we all know and love is called ‘Entry of the Gladiators’ by Julius Fucik. Neat.  
> ♤♡◇♧
> 
> Also, please comment and review! I would like for my writing to be good enough for people to kinda sorta at least like to read it a little bit. Criticism helps! Thank you so much


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